Page 27 of Ransom for His Secret Son

Langley blinked, then gave a sharp, humorless laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “A lot of people want Tarrant dead.”

But Brody saw it then. The shift in his posture, the slight drop in his shoulders. The tension bleeding out, just a little. Like Langley had been expecting something worse.

Brody narrowed his eyes. “You thought we were here to kill you?”

Langley didn’t deny it. His lips pressed into a thin line before he let out a shaky breath. “I thought Tarrant sent you.”

That pulled Brody up short. He shot a glance at Remi, who looked just as surprised as he was.

“Why would Tarrant want you dead?” Remi asked, stepping forward.

Langley opened his mouth like he was going to answer, but then his gaze darted away, and the words dried up. He shifted, clearing his throat, dodging the question like it had never been asked.

Instead, he latched on to Brody’s earlier words. “This very precious person you mentioned…Who is it?”

Brody didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Because that was a deflection, plain and simple. Langley wanted to shift the focus, maybe even play the concerned card to make himself seem innocent.

But Brody wasn’t buying it.

“You’re not here to ask questions,” Brody said, his voice dropping lower, all ice and steel. “You’re here to answer them.”

Langley shifted on his feet, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. His fingers twitched toward his desk, hesitating for a split second before he snatched up his phone. He fumbled with it, scrolling quickly, then thrust it toward Brody like it was proof of something, like maybe his innocence.

“I got a text,” he blurted out.

Brody snatched the phone from his hand, his jaw tightening as he read the message on the screen.

Sheriff Brody Walker and Remi are hunting for Tarrant. When they find him, they’ll exchange him for the sheriff’s missing son. Give them all the help you can, and we’ll both get what we want—Tarrant’s head on a silver platter.

It was identical to the one sent to Christina and Eloise. Seeing it here on Langley’s phone twisted the knot in his chest even tighter. Brody handed the phone to Remi so she could read it for herself. Her groan let him know she was having a similar reaction.

“Who sent this text?” Brody asked the doctor.

Langley shook his head. “I don’t know. You can see that it came from an unknown number. No name, no details.”

Brody wanted more. A lot more. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Why would someone send this to you?”

“I don’t know!” Langley’s voice pitched higher, his composure cracking. “I swear I don’t know where Tarrant is. I can’t help you because I don’t know anything.”

But Brody still wasn’t buying it. The fear in Langley’s eyes was real, sure, but fear didn’t mean innocence. It just meant he was scared.

“Who were you talking to when we came in?” Brody pressed. “Let me see your phone.”

The doctor hesitated but eventually showed Brody his screen. “I was talking to Eloise Davenport,” Langley admitted. “I thought she’d sent the text, but she insisted she hadn’t, that she got one, too.”

Langley’s face was flushed now, a sheen of sweat forming along his hairline. His hands twitched as he shoved his phone back into his pocket, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I know she believes I had something to do with Grace’s stolen embryo,” Langley snapped, jerking his chin toward Remi. “But I didn’t.”

Brody stepped in, his chest tight, the tension vibrating in his jaw. “Then who did?”

Langley’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Tarrant. Or maybe Christina,” he muttered, but it didn’t even sound convincing to himself. He waved the idea off. “I don’t know.”

Brody’s patience snapped. He grabbed the edge of Langley’s desk, leaning in, his voice low and sharp enough to cut through steel. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Langley swallowed hard. “Grace’s baby doesn’t have anything to do with what’s happening now…” He stopped. “Does it?”

Before Brody could even attempt an answer, the blare of the fire alarm screeched through the room. Red lights flashed against the sterile white walls, casting everything in pulsing shadows.